for JL, et al.
ㅤ
We are horse girls, you and I,
dreaming of destrier
muscles and cathedral-arch
ㅤ
necks, of hooves hard-
packing earth,
and of dust-kissed
ㅤ
lashes splitting sunlight
into threads held
by liquid eyes. We are
ㅤ
the last conservators
of dreams tucked close
by squires incanting war
ㅤ
and chivalric vows—
what strange inheritors
we must be to them:
ㅤ
girls rewarded for pretending
smallness, morgans
told they cannot budge
ㅤ
the stump. But we know
better: flicking flies
from our withers
ㅤ
and bursting
out of classrooms
to become canterers
ㅤ
of schoolyards,
encyclopedias of breeds.
Our minds sanctuaries
ㅤ
for native prairies
and barrel racers and queens
and steeplechasers
ㅤ
and hunters and jockeys
and let’s uninvent
the stirrup today,
ㅤ
with our Mistys of Chincoteague
and Black Stallions
and National Velvets
ㅤ
and Black Beauties, pages
dog-eared and polished
by our reverent touches,
ㅤ
and, yes, I weep for Ginger
each and every time, don’t you?
Today, I am the percheron
ㅤ
who leapt from the circus train
when it slowed around a bend,
and you be a mustang mare
ㅤ
who teaches me to kick
mountain lions in the jaw—
so let’s rear up from the carousel,
ㅤ
split the poles pinning us
to this spinning platform,
because today we will run
ㅤ
so fast all four hooves
will leave the earth.
I read in my books
ㅤ
that this is called a gallop,
and this is the day we do it,
I just know it is.
“Horse Girls”
Published online October 13, 2023